to-night. Eliz. Now go, my ladies, both—Prepare fit lodgings,—let your courtesiesRetain in our poor courts the man of God. [Exeunt. Lewis and Elizabeth are left alone.] Now hear me, best beloved:—I have marked this man:And that which hath scared others, draws me towards him:He has the graces which I want; his sternnessI envy for its strength; his fiery boldnessI call the earnestness which dares not trifleWith life’s huge stake; his coldness but the calmOf one who long hath found, and keeps unwavering,Clear purpose still; he hath the gift which speaksThe deepest things most simply; in his eyeI dare be happy—weak I dare not be.With such a guide,—to save this little heart—The burden of self-rule—Oh—half my workWere eased, and I could live for thee and thine,And take no thought of self. Oh, be not jealous,Mine own, mine idol! For thy sake I ask it—I would but be a mate and help more meetFor all thy knightly virtues. Lewis. ’Tis too true!I have felt it long; we stand, two weakling children,Under too huge a burden, while temptationsLike adders swarm up round: I must be led—But thou alone shall lead me. Eliz. I? beloved!This load more? Strengthen, Lord, the feeble knees! Lewis. Yes! thou, my queen, who making thyself once mine,Hast made me sevenfold thine; I own thee guideOf my devotions, mine ambition’s lodestar,The Saint whose shrine I serve with lance and lute;If thou wilt have a ruler, let him be,Through thee, the ruler of thy slave. [Kneels to her.] Eliz. Oh, kneel not—But grant my prayer—If we shall find this man,As well I know him, worthy, let him beDirector of my conscience and my actionsWith all but thee—Within love’s inner shrineWe shall be still alone—But joy! here comesOur embassy, successful. [Enter Conrad, with Count Walter, Monks, Ladies, etc.] Conrad. Peace to this house. Eliz. Hail to your holiness. Lewis. The odour of your sanctity and might,With balmy steam and gales of Paradise,Forestalls you hither. Eliz. Bless us doubly, master,With holy doctrine, and with holy prayers.
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